


Like You Never Had Wings

by Satan In Purple (purple_satan)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Post-TLJ, Stream of Consciousness, force bond masturbation, smut this is all smut with barely any plot, some canon divergence, three-way sex (sorta)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-24 14:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_satan/pseuds/Satan%20In%20Purple
Summary: Snapshots of him, of her. A collection of moments. They are entwined, bonded.(But there's also someone else there, too.)





	1. Spiral

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Basic Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316033) by [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs). 



> just taking a spin at force-bond masturbation with a sexy reylux endgame. major thanks to [brittlelimbs](archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs) for giving me permission to remix her fic "basic space", though this veered a little bit too far off track to be a proper remix.

 

 

Liminal spaces, those are the times he first re-appears to her.

Sad-eyed, wistful, she watches as Ben Solo plays at being a king while he watches her from his throne, saying nothing. A bond they have, a two-way street of emotions. Interactions neither of them can properly turn off, so she lets him watch her _thrive._ Watch her go on living happily without him. Interacting with his friends, living in the spaces he once occupied, was raised in. Rey lets him become her passenger until the prickling tug at her stomach and the corner of her eye of his presence feels as familiar as anything else.

She doesn’t reach out now.

Neither does he.

Tidally locked like planets orbiting the same destructive star, they move around each other. She catches glimpses of his life too, reciprocal wafer thin slices of who they are becoming, Siamese twins with and without each other there. He’s in charge of so much now, the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders he didn’t stop to think of having, just acted upon.

Calls himself Supreme Leader of the First Order now and only the company of one man she vaguely remembers, does he keep. A flash of ginger, the rank bars of a general on a sleeve in silver instead of gold, pale eyes and pink lips pressed in a thin line.

 _Hux_ , her mind supplies—or maybe his. Not General Hux, not Armitage Hux.

Just _Hux._

Sometimes she wonders if she had said yes, stayed to tug on his resolve like a loose thread and unravel him around her desire instead of this other man she sees him with. Its selfish, yes, but so many lives could be saved if he—if _Ben Solo_ , had joined her in stopping this war.

She tries not to think about it, to not give him the satisfaction that she could have been tempted. He—

He sits on a throne alone. _He didn’t have to._

It’s not her fault the view from the throne is a lonely one, nor that the fall from it is perilous.

* * *

 

Some days her skin feels fever hot, blistering, like it doesn’t belong to her. She flushes bodily, exertion that isn’t hers. Tries not to think of the cause.

Often it’s entirely innocent. Ruler or not, he does still train with his lightsaber. Swooping wide arcs, footing she wishes she had been taught. He goes through forms she hazily remembers the names to, then again as if to imprint them into her mind, searing afterimages. Sweat rolls down her brow a proxy to his, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand onto her clothes.

He feels neither sad nor hollow with the strange, cobbled together contraption of a saber he made. His steps dutiful, one after the other as he moves with more grace than she originally gave him credit for and she finds a strange peace in his focused rage. Outlines blurring, she moves in step with him. Red and blue swinging together, but not quite in sync. She’s too small, limbs too short to entirely keep up. Has to make up the deficit in extra movements, robbing her of the economy of his fluid motions.

He continues, strips off his cape and tabard as he practices, and she finds herself pantomiming the motions with her own clothing until she’s down to only her breast band and pants. She feels freer than she ever has as she swings the saber in her hands, even if a heavy weight settles in her body she didn’t used to have, her center of gravity changing.

Grinning, her lips move around a strange word she doesn’t know the meaning to. An explanation. Awash in praise that hums across her skin and seeps into her bones as she feels him around her, surrounding her. He’s moving with her, breathing the same air. Its more intimate than it’s ever been before.

Or so she thinks.

 

* * *

 

Opening her eyes, slitted sea-glass eyes stare back at her in scrutiny, pale freckled limbs and mussed red hair. A clipped male voice, accent similar to hers dredgingly asks, _what’s it now?_ —and— _a little more focus Ren, if you would._

The other man is at their feet, and if he notices she’s watching, he does an excellent job of acting like she’s not there.

This time, she’s thrown back into reality harshly as possible, the tug behind her navel and her surroundings coming up around her in a blur of motion. She does not trust this man in white and gold by his side she’s seen before. Snide remarks and sidelong glances, too eager to please once behind closed doors. It’s in the moments around him she feels tension from Ben, frisson. Something unpleasant slides along her skin and she feels like she’s a voyeur, doesn’t belong there.

But she does. _He’s_ the one that doesn’t belong. 

A buzzing like insects roars inside her ears, inside her skin. She can’t quite wholly tell where she ends and he begins on most days. Around Hux she can acutely feel the difference, feel Ben try and trap her into only a corner of his mind.

But she still sees pink and red, still feels sharp eyeteeth and jagged nails without being able to defend herself. Still feels each bruise as it blooms afterwards on her skin too. She recoils, bristling. Spitting insults in seven languages, scratching her own nails down the walls of his mind.

And then she feels nothing but her own mind rattling with insects she sets free until she feels calm, empty.

* * *

 

The first time he catches her, she's enraptured in her own pleasure after being forcibly ejected from his mind. Shame marks her face as she stops immediately, hastily smoothing down rumpled fabrics, her clothing askew. The important bits are covered at least.

Nothing can cover the flush of his cheeks, the heat of his scorching gaze as it passes over her in recognition. The widening of his pupils until they’re dark, so dark they consume his iris entirely.

He turns around to give her as much privacy as can be allowed, but she hears the creak of leather, fingers curled into a tight fist.

 _Go,_ she whispers harshly, though something tugs deep down in her and knows the lie. _You made me leave first._

He says nothing in reply. Vanishes after a particularly agonizing minute of her memorizing his broad back, the planes of his shoulders.

She feels white hot anger radiating inside of her that wasn’t there before. It takes all of her will to not slam her fist down on the table beside her bed in frustration she isn’t sure is his or hers.

 

Does it feel like a curse to him at times too?

 

* * *

  

 _Ben,_ she wonders sometime later that evening, _where are you?_

_Ben?_

No answer. She wasn't particularly expecting one, but nevertheless—

_Ben, what is happening to us?_

Her hand claps over her mouth, but she’s already said it. Not her, not him.

_Us.  
_

 

* * *

 

  
After that she catches him like a thief in the night, peeling through the layers of her mind often while she drifts off to sleep or when her mind wanders. She says nothing of his renewed curiosity. If he wants to know so much about her, he can go on ahead and find out.

Let him watch her struggle on Jakku, every day spent scavenging for portions, every tick on the wall marking her solitude. Let him feel the harrowing work she did every day just to survive. Let the loneliness and the gritty harshness of the desert wash over his bones and seep into his skin, get stuck under his nails too. He deserves to feel and understand every moment of what she went through.

Let him know he once had everything in the world she has ever wanted and threw it away for a madman’s whim for power, to rule the galaxy.

And for what?

 _I understand how lonely you are, I was once too. I am again without you._ His voice sounds rusty from disuse, though she swears she hears it constantly.

 _Liar, liar,_ she thinks.

Because It is a lie. She _knows_ he’s not entirely alone. He has his troops, his knights, his dalliance with his general, among other things. There are people around him, he just chooses not to join them. It’s not the same as it was for her, they _have never been the same_.

This time the rage she feels is wholly her own. It licks at her skin and consumes her vision, blue-white hot like a familiar lightsaber blade.

He laughs hollowly across their bond, says nothing to dissuade her.

She continues to believe Ben Solo was never a lonely boy.

 

* * *

 

The dreams get more vivid.

She’s never had sex, but the women of Niima outpost used to tell stories. She has an idea of what the act looks like. Of what a penis is and where it goes, at the very least. How to put it there and how much to charge for it or other carnal things people could want from her.

But, _stars,_ nothing could prepare her for the feeling of having a cock she wasn’t born with.

Something heavy and hard between her legs she’s aware she doesn’t actually own, yet feels without a doubt not only its existence, but also a spit-slicked hand running up and down the foreign appendage as her thighs tremble. She’s not sure if he’s aware. The bond is open, _too open_ , and she can feel the scattershot of his thoughts and memories all bleeding through in a jumble. The childhood longing, past present future disappointments, frustrations, how much he misses his _motherfatheruncleherherherherher—_

He wraps his hand around them, tugging almost violently and his voice breaks over her name, trembling. Crumbling to ash, like a fallen empire.

_“Rey.”_

Oh god, he wasn’t just—

 _Give me back. Ben, give me back,_ she hisses between clenched teeth and thighs. Palms sweating, knuckles white. Fingers curled tightly in her sheets. They can’t—she can’t—

 _No,_ he answers with the ferocity of a saber swing on a blown up planet, snow and ash surrounding them as they danced together. Not side by side like the last time she _saw him_ saw him, but against one another in another time, another place. His answer to her a howl ripping through the night sky, ruptured stars with teeth and claws. Heat and tightness, as her vision narrows.

_I won't give you back. You’re mine, Rey of Jakku._

She screams this time at him, bodies blurring together as one. They both come, a familiar and foreign wetness between her legs she wishes was a dream—a nightmare—  but dreams don’t have to be scrubbed off in the morning like this will, soaking the sheets beneath her and sticking to her thighs.

His voice is rough, scathing in her ears. Takes his parting shot, lands a bullseye that leaves her quivering in the chilly night.

_You’ve always been mine, even if this is all I get._

 

* * *

 

  
After that its a draw, a standstill.

He still doesn’t speak to her. They still haven’t had more than a one-sided conversation  since he left her for the throne. Only snapshots of him, of her. _Them._ A collection of moments, of white hot spikes of pain and pleasure coiled down hidden below the surface of their fleeting interactions.

He flings her into chaos every time she finds him panting her name, fist curled around his angry red cock, his scarred back bowed over. No longer is he with Hux when he’s chasing his pleasure and no longer does he close her out, their bond now more open than it ever was before. She can feel the _thump-thump_ of his heartbeat racing jackrabbit fast, copper on his tongue as he draws out the rounded vowels of her name, the stinging edge of impending release.

She scrambles to take off too-small pants with broader fingers than she’s used to, knifing a hand between their thighs to play with their clit and find release in return.

He touches their breasts, cupping them with dainty hands, feeling under layers of fabric for their peaking nipples to twist one hard enough she shouts, muffling it with the fist not around their cock. Their thighs tremble as they move in synchrony, pleasure taking flight as ropes of sticky white substance cool on their chest. They both finally feel loose-limbed, sated. For a moment amicably basking in each other's shared pleasure.

 _Do you want to fuck him?_ He asks her conversationally, as he wipes away the mess with the corner of his sheet. Tucks his flaccid cock back into his pants. It feels seemingly out of the blue, nonchalant.  She stares up at a ceiling not her own and the same rage she remembers from before flares up.

He laughs bitterly at her jealousy, her unwillingness to share. Nothing was ever shared on Jakku, only stolen with the intent to sell. _Finders-keepers._

She wants to sink her teeth and claws into him, rend him into pieces before she’d willingly share him with another, much less this red-headed interloper who he got to take her place so quickly.

_Then why did you leave me?_

The accusation stings even though now it feels like he’s been there all along, will never leave her side again.

 

* * *

 

If he planned on driving her mad after asking, it works.

He spends as much time around Hux as humanly possible, painting her mind with vivid pictures of him even doing the most mundane things. How the lights shine a certain way in his hair. How his face relaxes minutely each time he drinks caf, his datapad sitting untouched on the table beside him. How he occasionally cards his fingers through Ben's hair when they are alone, blunt fingers scratching at his scalp more affectionately than he'd ever willingly admit out loud. How Ben traces the freckles on his back when he sleeps, connecting them in abstract constellations and star charts neither of them know the names to. The thought of pliant, pale skin below her and _taking-taking-taking_ until she’s had her fill becomes more and more enticing each time he dangles the redhead in front of her.

She also witnesses why Ben likes him. How commanding he is. How sharp and cutting his tongue can be. How quickly he draws in Ben’s temper like an abyss, a black hole sun surrounding them both with a blinding red corona.

Sometimes she has to squint to look at Hux and somehow he’s _always_ there, looking back.

If Hux notices them staring today _—Ren staring,—_ he makes no mention if it. He clicks his tongue once in disdain before walking away stiffly, his red and gold a stark contrast to the dark tones of the bridge. Rey briskly follows him into another room, tugging at Ben's consciousness as she strides in legs that cover ground far quicker than she would. She nearly trips over his too-big feet rounding the corner, but someone pulls at her clothing. Tugs it hard enough she stumbles.

Hux instantly has them pressed up against the suprasteel of the ship’s walls, arm pressed against their windpipe. His blaster's against their temple and it's hard enough she panics, pleading with a smug Ben who does nothing to stop him.

He lets go of them after a moment, hissing in their ear.

“If you are to occasionally take control of the Supreme Leader _— of my boyfriend—_ you’ll need to learn how to control yourself first, scavenger.”

_Oh._

She wasn’t expecting that.


	2. Helix

The cycle repeats itself over many nights.

She gets the best sleep she’s ever had, flush and full of vigor when she wakes, ready to train. Scrabbles her nails at the bond between them but only gets glimpses now of his days, flashes of suprasteel walls and jagged red blades, of datapads full of information discarded to the side as he sequesters himself from them, from her.

Instead his nights are hers, their bond flung recklessly wide open to the point she knows in exact detail the surroundings of the room in which he lives. How he lives. Where and how he likes to _fuck_ , and that he’d rather be doing it with her _._

Somewhere drifting in space he’s sitting in a room, four walls to her four, commanding the First Order to do something that might get her friends killed.

The thought makes her stomach lurch, bile creeping its way up her throat and seizing the breath out of her lungs. That she’d share a bed with him and then wake up knowing they were on opposite sides the next morning. That it’s not just her and him, but this other with them as well.

She should stop.

_(You’ve always been mine, even if this is all I get.)_

It has to stop.

 

* * *

 

 _I’m compromised_ , Ben says amusedly one day and she’s not sure if its to her or to his admiral by his side. She’s scratched her nails on their link long enough today he’s lowered his defenses down, letting her into the familiar room with its familiar couches and familiar bed. Hux is barely in their periphery next to him, bright and shining in the dim lights of the room they’re in.

“You always were,” he mutters, not looking up from the datapad in his hand. “Just bring her here if this is to _—continue._ ”

His pink lips are curled in distasted, teeth almost barred, but they know better. White coat off, folded neatly on a table, his collar is barely open and the small patch of skin at his throat has her eyes transfixed. He runs a hand through his hair and a few strands fall out of place. He looks up from the datapad at them and something clicks into place in the way he stares, like he’s looking directly at her.

 _The rabid cur,_ Ben replies and she can feel his humor. _Ours, though. Is he right? Should we hunt you down?_ _Do you like what we do, Rey? I like it._

Clenching her palms, her fingernails cut into her skin as he goads her. Bloody little crescents as she grits her teeth and tries to block him out the best she can and fails because she’s let him in too far too much.

_Don’t be embarrassed. I can tell you liked it._

Hux is still staring at them, pale eyes sharper than knives. Eyes prizing information from them without her physically present.

_He’s right there, Rey. He wants to take your freedom away. Take his first._

“I leave that to you, Ren.”

Hux goes back to the datapad in his hands as though nothing had ever happened and she wonders _—how red would everything would be if they slit his throat then and there instead of her indecision?_

“She wants to kill you,” Ben replies almost conversationally, reclining against the headboard. Hux snorts, the hand not holding the datapad rubbing absently at his other wrist. The chain of bruises around both of them are already beginning to show in the wan light.

“Something you both have in common.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Hux.”

_Oh._

“Is she there now?” He asks almost cautiously, as though there’s anything he can hide from only one of them but what Ben knows she knows and she knows this.

“It takes more than that to scare her off.”

“I see,” the redhead replies dryly, tossing the datapad onto an already precarious stack of flimsi. “What savages you keep, Supreme Leader.”

 

* * *

 

She still dreams at night, the dreams turning leaves to feverish spells of sights and sounds. And skin. Wide expanses of flesh like the rolling dunes of Jakku. No interruptions, nothing to blot out the white-hot sun of arousal spiking her blood and making her sweat and shiver in the sheets. And the skin _—_ too pallid to be hers, and wrongly speckled to be his. Not a smattering of dark marks but a fine sprinkle of dots that converge in areas more than others. Skin pallid white like stripped desert bones, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, back beginning to stain with the telltale flush of arousal. Two large scars on the back, the pink puckered skin running down the scapulae to where ribs begin hidden, always hidden from view for anyone other than him _—them._

Ben runs their hands down that back and the body underneath shivers as the hands land on hips, tugging and pulling over and over as all three of them groan. It's unexpected, the sensation making her wantonly gasp as she realizes she's doing it herself, thrusting into that warm heat that's so snug and tight around them. Her senses narrow, acutely aware of the slap of skin against skin, the brutality of the thrusts _—yes! Exactly like that like a fucking animal—kriffing hell, Rey, this is exactly what I taught you, so good ohfuckohfuck—_

His words slur together and she moves faster, feeling completely out of control and yet in control at the same time. The act of fucking as easy as breathing in and out, in and out. She keeps going as Ben lets her completely control his body. There's something low in them both, tightly coiled and waiting. Something driving them along, fucking her into Hux like its her lifeblood like its the last thing she'll ever do even if its sends them all to oblivion. Blissed out and high on the arousal, she snaps their hips harder. Lets go of everything until it all bleeds away like a severed carotid, not in red but stark white like his uniform around the edges.

Hux keens, knuckles white as he tightly grips the blankets. He comes on the mattress beneath them with a single touch to his cock, staining the sheets in pearly ropes before smearing them. His red hair is plastered to his temples, curling at the edges as the sweat dries. Her grip on his hips shifts before slackening, bruising before releasing. She does too with a sigh and Ben pulls them out, his softening cock dripping seed onto Hux's creamy thighs and the already soiled sheets.

She thinks she sees recognition in pale eyes when he flips over, eyes slitted and knowing, but she lets go.

Floats away to sleep boneless and sated. Drifting, her naked body aimless in the inky black voids of space between freckled constellations. Her sticky thighs and belly, full off the scraps of arousal fed to her by Ben and his lover. Nothing to tether her other than the low hum of his voice praising her a lullaby, praising them both.

 _It was dream,_ she tells herself in the morning, stretching sore muscles over her head. She catches herself adjusting her too-tight pants for the cock she doesn't have and shakes her head. Tries to shake the persistent thoughts of losing her autonomy free from her mind.

_It was just a dream._

 

* * *

 

“So that was her too?” Hux asks him, finally coherent enough to string sentences together. He looks far more gone than usual, boneless and fully fucked out. His skin’s still tacky with sweat and cum, but he hasn’t made any move to the fresher yet content to stretch out on his sheets like a lithe felinx, sharp teeth and all. “The scavenger girl?”

“Rey.”

“I know her name, Ren."

"Still want to keep her?"

 _"Stars, yes."_   He answers breathlessly, as though someone's knocked the air right out of his lungs. "She’s—”

“I know,” Ren replies.They’re both panting still, breath having already fogged up the only viewport in the room. The condensation obscuring their view of the stars and space, of where she could be floating along just out of their reach. “I know.”

Whatever word Hux is searching for goes unsaid in the liminal space between them being rivals and lovers. Between love and hate. Between them and _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I couldn't leave you all hanging with the actual smut, right?
> 
> This was fun!

**Author's Note:**

> TLJ has hit and my reylux loving ass is on tumblr in full force reblogging, follow me on tumblr @[purple-satan-fic](http://purple-satan-fic.tumblr.com/) for more fic related stuff or @[satan-in-purple](http://satan-in-purple.tumblr.com/) for all my sw related posts & reblogs!
> 
> title is from deftones, "change in the house of flies." good tunes.


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